


Zero Sum Game

by hearmerory



Series: Change of Address [10]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, Autism, Autistic Zuko (Avatar), Azula (Avatar) Needs a Hug, Azula (Avatar) Redemption, Child Abuse, Crazy Azula (Avatar), Deep Conversations, Dialogue Heavy, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Manipulation, Family, Family Issues, Gay Zuko (Avatar), Hallucinations, Homophobia, Hurt Zuko (Avatar), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, Iroh (Avatar) loves Tea, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Sokka (Avatar), Psychosis, Zuko (Avatar) is a Good Brother, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, they are children dammit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:42:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26816800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearmerory/pseuds/hearmerory
Summary: She looked better than she had the last time he’d seen her. Her hair had grown back properly, and was now in a short bob that framed a face that had got more sunlight in an institution than in their father’s home.Her eyes weren’t dull with medication anymore, and they didn’t travel over his scar like she was admiring the craftsmanship that went into burning so deep without killing him or taking his eye.Zuko stood, and hid the tremble in his fingers behind his back.Iroh placed a hand on Azula’s shoulder and led her to Zuko.“Excellent,” he said happily, telegraphing his movement as he reached out to grasp Zuko’s shoulder too. “Together at last.”“Oh yes, Uncle,” Azula smiled. It wasn’t quite the sinister grin of their childhood, the one that promised little bruises on his arms, but it wasn’t friendly either. Her eyes bored into his, and he looked away. “I’m so looking forward to joining your lovely little family.”
Relationships: Azula & Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Azula & Iroh (Avatar), Azula & Sokka (Avatar), Azula & Zuko (Avatar), Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Change of Address [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1928572
Comments: 57
Kudos: 732





	Zero Sum Game

**Author's Note:**

> I recommend reading at least the summary of Ozai's Love before reading this, as it references (non-graphically) things that happen there.

Aside from a vacation with his mother and the years he’d lived with his uncle, summers had generally been the worst part of Zuko’s year.

Ten uninterrupted weeks, when his father didn’t have to worry about nosy teachers or hiding bruises.

The summer after sophomore year had been a living hell, and Zuko had tried his absolute hardest to repress every memory from the months he’d spent voluntarily back at his father’s house.

And now, summer was approaching again. He’d submitted all of his finals. He’d said awkward goodbyes to the teachers he liked, and he’d gone for celebratory ice cream with the friends he hadn’t had the year before.

Then he’d gone home, back to Iroh, and Iroh had broken the news.

They were moving.

Not far away. Actually, closer to the Jasmine Dragon. Closer to school. Closer to the theater, and to the university, if Zuko wanted to take classes there after senior year. Slightly further away from the dojo. Slightly further away from Sokka.

Uncle had tried to point out that a fifteen minute drive was actually further than a twenty minute walk, but they were getting rid of the car, so that made no sense.

Zuko could feel himself vibrating as his uncle tried to sell him on the benefits of moving house.

He’d have to change his bedroom.

He’d have to change his routine.

His insides felt tight and shaky as uncle tried to soothe him down.

He didn’t want to move.

But they had to.

Because they needed the extra bedroom.

Because Azula was coming.

* * *

Zuko had refused to help pack. He knew he was being childish, that sitting on the couch with his arms crossed and his eyes closed, listening to Sokka and Iroh pack up his things, didn’t actually make it go away.

So slowly that he barely realized he’d done it, his legs came up on the couch to press against his chest, and his arms wrapped around his knees.

The rocking helped, a little. The movement slowed down the buzzing under his skin, the prickling of panic across his chest.

Sokka came, eventually, and tried to wrap his arms around him. Zuko snarled, vicious and nasty and angry and desperate.

Uncle ushered the other boy away.

His weight shifted the couch slightly, and Zuko felt it splinter in his bones.

Everything was too much.

The faded spots on the living room wall, where photos of Lu Ten and Zuko and Iroh and all the other important people used to hang.

The tiny buzz of electricity through the lights.

The incessant ringing in his crippled ear.

The worn fabric of the couch under his limbs.

The feel of his hair, touching the back of his neck and the tops of his ears.

The rug that wasn’t in front of the fire place, leaving behind another faded spot in the room.

The rough skin of his scar, too tight and itching and still warm to touch.

The taped up boxes waiting by the door.

The hands on his arms as Uncle manipulated his numb, searing body into a more comfortable position.

The heat of the mug as it was pressed into his hands.

The scent of jasmine and camomile.

The indiscernible burn as the tea touched the roof of his mouth.

Too much.

“Zuko?” Iroh asked after the whole cup of tea was empty. It had almost gone cold in the silence, but his nephew’s body was trembling just a little less, and his eyes were a little more focused on the room.

“I don’t want to move,” Zuko said quietly, his voice rasping. “Put it all back.”

“I’m sorry, nephew, but all of the arrangements have been made.”

“Unmake them.”

“We’ll finish packing tomorrow, and head to the new house in the evening. We’ll unpack everything for your bedroom, and we’ll make it just how you want it.”

“I want my bedroom _here_ ,” Zuko insisted.

A part of him, smaller and quieter than the panicky anger, snarled at his disrespect. At his defiance. At his complete and total lack of self preservation.

But he knew Uncle. He knew that defiance meant long conversations and mugs of hot tea, not fists and burns and the pounding of — no. Uncle would listen.

Zuko let the fear, the overwhelming need for nothing to change, color his thoughts.

He pulled his knees back up, and wrapped his arms around his legs, making himself small and contained. Protecting his soft parts.

“I don’t want to go,” he growled, “you said I didn’t have to leave again!”

“Zuko, you’re not leaving. Not really. Not the important things. All of your possessions are coming with us. I’m coming. It’s not like last time.”

“You said I could stay here forever,” Zuko buried his face in the gap between his chest and his knees.

“I meant...” Iroh sighed, “I didn’t mean that we would never leave this specific house. I meant that you would never have to go back to your father. One day, I’m sure you will want to live in your own place. Right now, we’re going, together, to a different house. But it will still be our home.”

“You promised,” Zuko hated how weak he sounded, how utterly pathetic and childish and stupid. But his hands shook, and his heart pounded erratically against his ribs, and he _didn’t want to move_.

“Nephew, I know this is frightening—”

“I’m not _scared_!” Zuko objected immediately.

“Of course not,” Iroh soothed, “but this is a big change. It’s alright to feel a little unsettled.”

“I just don’t want to move,” Zuko muttered, clutching more tightly at his legs.

“I know. But we need more space, so that your sister can be comfortable.”

Zuko shrank back a little into the couch.

Everything, at his father’s house, had been about Azula. She was the prodigy, the smart one, the social one. The one who could cope with noise and eye contact and normal conversation. The one Father loved.

Everything was always about Azula.

He crushed down the jealous bite of anger that surged inside him.

“It will be alright, Zuko, I promise. Things are going to change, a little, but the important things will remain. We will still drink tea, and play Pai Sho. You’ll still go to the dojo and the theater on the same days. You will still meet up with your friends. The house is just a house.”

Zuko curled a little tighter, and didn’t argue any more.

* * *

“See, I told you my interior decorating skills were out of this world,” Sokka draped his arm over Zuko’s shoulders as they surveyed the new bedroom.

Zuko took in his old furniture, his posters, his books, somehow arranged exactly how he wanted them — by color, not by title or author — all placed in a similar layout to his old room.

The new room had more light, spilling in from a large window and a skylight. Sokka had put his bed almost under the skylight, and Zuko wondered if he’d be able to see stars.

Sokka had put his desk by the door, so it would be easy to see when it opened from where he sat.

But Zuko’s eyes were drawn to the far corner of the room, diagonal to the door.

A white sheet hung from the ceiling, slightly obscuring a stack of red pillows on the floor.

“What’s that?” Zuko pointed. Sokka rubbed the back of his neck.

“Well... I noticed how when you’re not feeling so good, you kinda gravitate to corners? So I thought maybe we could have a corner like... dedicated to that? Where you can hang out on some cushions and pull the sheet across like a curtain if you wanted privacy.”

Zuko blinked at him.

“You... you made that?” Zuko’s mouth was dry.

“Yeah,” Sokka rubbed his neck again, shifting slightly on his feet. “Do you like it?”

Zuko didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped towards it, his hand grazing across the soft fabric.

“You used the Christmas lights,” he whispered, fingering a tiny white bulb. The lights ran in lines up and down the outside of the sheet. Zuko bent down to flicked the power on, and the corner lit up in soft, gentle yellow-white light.

Slowly, he moved the sheet aside and sat down in the corner, sinking slightly into the softness of the large pile of pillows. With the sheet pushed to the side, he had a perfect view of the door.

“Got you a present, too. It’s just a little thing. Kinda stupid.” Sokka’s knelt down outside the little fort and reached under Zuko’s bed to grab a small plastic bag.

Zuko couldn't bear to take it, couldn’t bear to accept another gift when he’d hardly processed the beauty of Sokka’s little construction in the corner.

Sokka seemed to understand without him having to say anything, and he quickly pulled away the plastic bag, revealing a small plush toy duck.

“It’s like... weighted and stuff,” he placed the duck on Zuko’s lap, and Zuko couldn’t stop his hand reaching out to stroke the soft fur.

Zuko shifted slightly on the pillows, arranging himself so he wasn’t in the middle of the corner anymore, and patted the space next to him. Sokka’s face lit up, and he scrambled over to join.

“Sokka... this is...” Zuko was horrified at the catch in his voice, the tears building in his eye. “This is so perfect I can’t even tell you.”

Sokka squealed quietly, his arms spreading to invite Zuko in for a hug.

“Yes! I knew you’d love it!” He cheered as Zuko leaned into him, letting firm arms pull him close and hold him safely. He felt the little volley of kisses land on the top of his head, and landed his own on Sokka’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” he whispered into Sokka’s skin, “thank you so much.”

“I love you, babe,” Sokka whispered back, squeezing just a little tighter before relaxing, pulling them both to lean against the wall.

Zuko let himself relax into Sokka, his head resting on the taller boy’s shoulder, his hand absentmindedly stroking the duck, and looked up at the little canopy of stars he’d made.

It felt beautiful.

* * *

Zuko sat in the waiting room, counting seconds in his head, waiting for Uncle and Azula to emerge from the room to his left.

He’d turned his entire body to see the door properly, twisted in his seat and leaning his shoulder against the back rest.

He fiddled absentmindedly with a weird little toy Sokka had got him for his birthday, a little set of three metal cubes that clacked as he rubbed them between his fingers.

It kept his other hand still.

He didn’t like the facility. He’d come three times, in the first month of Azula’s stay.

The first time, she’d presented him with a stick figure drawing of a boy drowning in blood, lightning sparking from his chest, and he’d had to leave.

The second time, she had moved so fast towards him that her doctors had no chance of reaching them before she dug her nails into his scar.

The third time, she’d ignored him completely, speaking only to Uncle, even when he’d tried to rope Zuko into the conversation.

He hadn’t gone back, after that.

But the doctors said she was doing well, now. That she didn’t need to be in residential treatment. That twice weekly therapy would be enough to keep her sane enough not to try to kill him again.

Zuko wanted to believe it. He wanted his little sister to be safe, and happy, and not crazy.

But she had watched, as Ozai had thrashed him to within an inch of his life. She had listened, as their father screamed insults and obscenities in his ringing ears. And then she had electrocuted him, hours later, in a bathtub tinged pink with his blood.

Zuko shuddered, and his free hand went to rub the scarred skin over his heart. The first and only permanent mark she had left on his body.

The door opened, and Uncle and Azula stepped through.

She looked better than she had the last time he’d seen her. Her hair had grown back properly, and was now in a short bob that framed a face that had got more sunlight in an institution than in their father’s home.

Her eyes weren’t dull with medication anymore, and they didn’t travel over his scar like she was admiring the craftsmanship that went into burning so deep without killing him or taking his eye.

Zuko stood, and hid the tremble in his fingers behind his back.

Iroh placed a hand on Azula’s shoulder and led her to Zuko.

“Excellent,” he said happily, telegraphing his movement as he reached out to grasp Zuko’s shoulder too. “Together at last.”

“Oh yes, Uncle,” Azula smiled. It wasn’t quite the sinister grin of their childhood, the one that promised little bruises on his arms, but it wasn’t friendly either. Her eyes bored into his, and he looked away. “I’m so looking forward to joining your lovely little family.”

* * *

Zuko had claimed the slightly smaller of the two rooms, the one with a skylight and a large window. The one that was completely rectangular, with no odd walls to block his view of the door.

He looked for the spike of pride that should have lit Azula’s eyes when she walked into the larger room, but he didn’t find it.

He carried her duffle bag, full of her clothes, and she carried her small suitcase, with her other possessions.

“Thanks, Zuzu,” she smiled slightly when he put the bag down on her bed.

He nodded, teeth grazing the inside of his lower lip.

They hadn’t been alone together since she had clawed at his scar from across a table. And before that, when she’d pointed a taser at his chest and _not stopped firing_.

“It’s okay,” he said quietly. “Uncle... Uncle will be serving... serving tea. Because we got home. I-I think he’ll want you t-to come drink. With us.”

“Sounds good. I’ll be down in a minute.”

“O-okay,” he stepped out of the room, heart thudding fast, the uneven beat almost painful against the front of his rib cage. He closed the door behind him, and managed not to run down the stairs.

He skidded a little into the kitchen, and felt his heart settle with the sight of his uncle.

Uncle was there. Uncle wouldn’t let anything happen. Everything was fine.

“Zuko, would you please measure out the leaves?” Uncle asked, like he _knew_ Zuko needed something to do with his hands. Zuko obeyed immediately, and let the task flow through his body, smoothing over his breathing and his heart.

He took some deep breaths, feeling his energy focus back into center. He reached around in his body to find the ball of fear, concentrated right behind his left eye, where it usually was. He cradled the fear in his mind, and let it flow through his body, allowing it to dissipate into every corner.

_We must accept our fear, Zuko. Without fear, there can be no courage. Without fear, there can be no relief, no safety. We must accept our fear, and let it settle within us, allow it to flow through our bodies so that it does not control us. We control our feelings. We control our bodies._

Zuko poured water over the tea leaves and set the pot in the exact center of the table before taking his usual seat opposite his uncle.

The new table had six chairs instead of four, and he felt the extra distance immediately.

Before he could debate if he wanted to move to Iroh’s left side, so that he would be opposite Azula instead of next to her, so that he would be able to see them both without turning his head, Azula appeared, and made the choice for him.

“Welcome to our little ritual, Azula,” Iroh smiled, pouring her a cup and sliding it over.

Zuko frowned. He usually got the first cup.

“How adorable,” Azula smiled back. She threw a tiny glance at Zuko as Iroh passed him his cup, a little too far away to push it right into his hands, like he normally did. Zuko took the tea, and tried not to think that she had sounded condescending.

Ozai’s house had had no ritual. No pleasant shared cups of tea, or friendly discussion.

Time spent as a family at Ozai’s house too often involved Zuko being ordered away, or sent sprawled on the ground with red handprint on his face and the taste of blood in his mouth.

Zuko tried not to let his mind slip backwards. Tried not to think about long, quiet dinners as Azula and Ozai ate while he sat, still and silent, watching them, watching the food in front of him go cold as he waited hopelessly for permission to eat it.

The tea sloshed a little in the cup as he tried to still his shaking hands, and several droplets hit the table.

Azula’s gaze flicked instantly from Zuko’s spilled tea to Iroh. Her shoulders tensed slightly, barely moving at all as her eyes flitted back and forth between them, her forehead furrowing when nothing happened.

Zuko wiped the droplets away with his thumb, and took a sip.

For a moment, he thought Azula was going to speak.

But their tea was drunk in the quiet, and he wasn’t sure which would have been worse.

* * *

Azula was not panicking, because panic was beneath her.

Panic was for victims, and she was _not_ a victim.

She had never been a victim. She had watched, as her mother and then her brother bore the brunt of her father’s lessons. She had learned to smile, to laugh, to poke at bruises and _not care, caring is weak, caring gets you your own bruises,_ when they told her it hurt.

But she had never been a victim. She had been shielded by her own skill, her own determination to learn lessons before they needed to be taught, her own ability to know what her father needed and give it before it was ordered.

She was not a victim. She was the favorite.

In Ozai’s house, being the favorite meant reward, and power, and some ounce of approval. Being the least favorite meant being _Zuko_. Meant hot irons to the face and harsh punches to the gut and every word a knife meant to hurt.

She was not panicking.

Even though Ozai was gone, and she wasn’t shielded from and by him anymore.

Even though she’d been locked away, and taught lessons she didn’t understand, in soft, calm methods she couldn’t comprehend.

Even though people had told her that her father was wrong, that he shouldn’t have hurt anyone, that he shouldn’t have made her want to hurt anyone.

She was not panicking.

Even though she wasn’t the favorite anymore.

Zuko had been with Iroh longer. He’d made the man love him, even though he was weird, and uncomfortable and shouldn’t be allowed out.

No, in Iroh’s house, Zuko was the favorite. He could stammer his way through a sentence and earn an encouraging smile and not a slap to the face. He could flutter his hands at his side and get a pat on the shoulder and not be thrown against a wall. He could hug his legs and rock a little in front of the television and be offered a blanket and not kicked to the floor and screamed at until he cried and a new lesson began.

There were no consequences for being Zuko at Iroh’s house.

Here, Zuko was firmly, possibly irrevocably, the favorite.

She didn’t want to find out what happened to the least favorite child under Iroh’s hand.

As different as he seemed to Ozai, he was still her father’s brother. He was still the man Ozai told her had once run another car off the road for _sport_. He was still dangerous, and she was not his ally, like she had been her father’s ally.

She was in enemy territory, and she didn’t know the rules.

But she was the strong one. The capable one. The one who could lie, and manipulate, and learn, a thousand times better than her brother.

She had learned every lesson Ozai had offered her, and she had been the perfect student. She could make any situation advantageous, even without his guidance.

Even if he had signed papers to have her handed over to Iroh without even speaking to her.

Even if he had delivered boxes of her possessions to Iroh’s home while she was at school, and had her driver take her there one day instead of taking her home.

Even if he hadn’t answered any of her calls or letters from the institution.

Even if he had abandoned her.

She was the strong one, and she would be the favorite here, too. She would win Iroh’s attention, and his praise, and she would be what he wanted. She would do it better than Zuko ever could.

So she had to ignore the therapist’s voice inside her head, telling her that not everything is a competition, that everyone grows at their own pace, that everyone has worth, that no one deserves to be hurt the way her brother was hurt, that love is not a zero sum game, and she had to do what she had always done to earn her father’s love, to make sure she was always on top, always safe, always favored.

She had to win. And for her to win, Zuko had to lose.

* * *

Zuko was playing music through his good ear, his foot tapping along and his hands completely focused on the paper in front of him.

He’d been working on calligraphy and painting ever since he’d started training with Piandao, and while it had started off as an exercise to get better with his swords, it had evolved quickly into something he actually enjoyed.

He wasn’t exactly good, but there was something soothing about the brushstrokes. You couldn’t take back a stroke of the brush, like you couldn’t take back a stroke of the sword. Everything was deliberate. Everything had purpose.

“Hey Zuzu!”

Zuko flinched, and his cup of paint slipped, spilling blue all over his paper, splashing his hands and lap.

He held in a shriek of surprise and loss. His koi fish had been going so well, and now it was ruined, and half his paint was gone, and his desk was drenched in thick blue liquid.

“You’re so clumsy,” she chuckled, pushing off the door frame and coming in to his room.

Zuko wrenched his ear bud out and turned to be able to see her out of his good eye.

“What are you doing in here, Azula?” He tried to cover the shake in his voice with anger, but he couldn’t keep his hands from trembling, or his heart from thumping erratically against his ribs. “This is my room, you can’t just—”

“Oh Zuzu, always so emotional,” she flopped down on his bed and started nudging the script on his bedside table with her foot, pulling out the bookmark with her toe.

Zuko’s fists clenched.

“Uncle says you have to take me to meet your friends this afternoon. And he says you don’t have to come to Pai Sho tonight, because he already has a real partner.”

“We’re going to Sokka’s house, and you’re not invited,” Zuko couldn’t help the whine in his tone. She made him feel ten years old again. “And _I_ always play with Uncle on Thursdays!”

“Not anymore,” she laughed again, and Zuko tensed his muscles at the familiar cadence of casual cruelty. “He knows I’m better than you.”

Zuko’s left hand released from its fist and his fingers tapped wildly against his thigh.

Azula always lies, Azula always lies, Azula always lies.

“He said he didn’t want to play with you anyway,” she sat up and knocked the script off the table. It landed spine up on the ground, bending the middle pages.

Zuko rushed to pick it up, smoothing it back to normal, frustration rising in his chest. He ran a finger across a creased page, his hands automatically finding his mother’s stage notes.

“You’re such a liar,” he hissed, “get out of my room! You’re not allowed in here anyway! Uncle said we couldn’t go in each other’s rooms.”

“That’s hardly any way to talk to your poor, deranged sister,” she flopped back down onto his bed, lying down backwards and pulling her feet onto his pillow.

Zuko saw red.

“Get out! Get out, or I’ll—”

“You’ll what, _exactly_?” The teasing smile left her face, and she stared at him with cold eyes. “You touch me, and you’ll have to explain to Iroh why your baby sister is crying in _your_ bed.”

For once, Zuko understood her meaning immediately.

“He’d never believe you!” He snarled, his mind already racing through ugly scenarios.

“Are you sure? You’re happy to test that?”

“Go away, Azula!” His voice cracked with desperation.

“No.”

“I’m serious!”

“So am I.” She stood up, and leaned into him, threatening despite their height difference. Zuko felt his heart beat stutter. “I won Dad within seconds of being born. You think it will take me long to win Uncle? You think Iroh will want _you_ , compared to me? He likes injured little ducklings, doesn’t he? Well, I only see one of us with a psych record. You’re all healed up now. Not even a bruise left on you. But me? I’m an untapped gold mine of little traumas he can try and smooth away with his stupid proverbs and his gross tea. I have eclipsed you our entire lives. I will not lose to _you_.”

Zuko froze, his breath coming in stops and starts as his entire body trembled. His hands flapped and shook at his sides, his teeth clamped down on his lower lip. His eyes flicked from Azula’s face, to the floor, to the door and back, an endless loop.

“Uncle loves me,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” she shrugged. “Father loved you too.”

* * *

The entire time he’d lived with Iroh, they’d had tea at four o’clock.

Even back when he’d been terrified that one wrong move, one wrong word, would force Iroh’s hand and make him break all those promises of safety and protection.

Even when he’d yelled, and told his uncle that tea was a stupid waste of time and he didn’t want any, they’d still sat together. Sometimes in fuming silence, but always together.

As Zuko had grown up, it had become their time to talk. Thirty minutes out of whatever stress he was in to settle down and share space with someone who was actually nice to him.

Slowly, he’d opened up, and for a while, almost every tea time came with some horrific disclosure, or a rant about a teacher, or a frustrated complaint about his eye, or his ear, or some little kids who’d been scared of his face.

Whatever happened during tea time, though, it was always the same. Iroh would brew one of their favorite blends, and they would sit across from the table together and talk.

It felt like Zuko’s space. Time when he didn’t have to act like anyone else, or be ashamed of whatever he was feeling. Time where he got to vent, or share some funny story, or tell Uncle about some new move he’d mastered or new script he’d read.

It was the best part of most of Zuko’s days.

But tea for two had suddenly morphed into tea for three, and it wasn’t just his space anymore.

Tension seeped into his shoulders and his hands, thrumming under his skin.

As the days passed, and Azula got used to the ritual, Zuko started to realize just how masterful Uncle had been when they’d had tea alone. Iroh had always allowed silence, had never pushed him into talking, and so when he did talk it was on his own terms, following the tracks of his own thoughts.

Azula filled the silence, and pushed him out.

Now, tea conversations were about her. Her day. Her thoughts. Her treatment. Her feelings.

Zuko couldn’t remember talking at tea time since she’d come home with them.

It was fine. Completely fine.

She clearly needed to talk.

She hadn’t had an adult to speak to just as much as he hadn’t. Zuko very much doubted that even her relationship with their father had extended to any discussion of her thoughts or feelings.

The whisper of his father’s voice in his ear, berating his every movement, got louder, and meaner, and he couldn’t tell anyone because Uncle was busy. Busy with Azula and her slightly off smiles and her intrusions on his spaces.

It was fine.

She needed Uncle. He’d already been helped, he wasn’t selfish enough to think he could just... have someone there for him all the time. That wasn’t how the world worked, and he _knew_ that.

It was fine.

But, as he held the familiar mug in his cold hands and stared at the unfamiliar table, listening to Iroh and Azula talking, he felt... outside.

Just like always.

Ozai and Azula had always been a team. Azula, Mai and Ty Lee had been a team. Lu Ten and Iroh had been a team.

Maybe, for a short time, a long time ago, he and Ursa had been a team. But she hadn’t protected him, and she had left.

He’d never had friends, not until Sokka and his friends had adopted him.

He’d never been on the inside of anything before Iroh.

Azula talked, and talked, and existed, and was big until Zuko was small, barely noticeable as the tide washed over him.

Iroh wasn’t his anymore.

* * *

“It’s stupid,” Zuko shook his head, wrapping his arms around his chest and burying his hands in his armpits.

“I bet it’s not,” Sokka smiled sympathetically.

“It is! It’s stupid, and childish, and selfish. I should be _happy_.”

“Dude, this is hard stuff. Your sister is... kinda scary? And it makes sense that you’d be struggling.”

“She just... Uncle is always...”

“What, babe?”

Zuko threw his head back to stare at the Christmas lights as they twinkled slightly through the sheet, the anger and frustration painting themselves across his face.

“She’s always talking! She takes up _so_ much space! When we were with Father, she got all the good attention because she was _better_ than me, and now she gets all Uncle’s attention because she’s _worse_! I just... Uncle was _mine_ , and now he’s always talking to her, and she’s _everywhere_! He wants me to help her be friends with you guys, but you’re _my_ friends! He wants her to take classes at _my_ dojo, and come to play Pai Sho, even though she hates it! It’s not fair!”

Zuko breathed heavily into the silence, the room echoing slightly with the volume of his words.

“Oh Zuko...”

“I know! I know it’s stupid, and wrong, and petty. I know I’m a terrible brother! I _know_!”

“You’re not! You’re not a terrible brother, _spirits_!” Sokka looked horrified.

“I am! I wish she wasn’t here! I’m fucking _scared_ of her, all the time, and she’s _stealing_ my life!”

Zuko screwed up his face against the angry tears as they pricked at his good eye.

“I’m being so unfair,” he hissed to the ceiling, “she just got out of a mental institution, and she’s my baby sister. I’m supposed to want her to be happy.”

“You _do_ want her to be happy,” Sokka reached out and pulled him in, wrapping his arms tight around his shoulders. Zuko let his head drop onto Sokka’s chest, and buried his face in the softness of his blue hoodie. “I know you do. But this is... it’s so hard. It’s allowed to be hard. You’re allowed to take up space.”

“She needs him more than me,” Zuko whispered.

“That doesn’t mean you don’t need him too,” Sokka kissed the top of his head. “I think you should talk to your uncle. It’s not fair of him to expect you to have Azula around all the time. And I know how important spending time with him is to you. Maybe Azula should find some of her own activities, so you can hang out with him on your own.”

“She doesn’t want to,” Zuko brought his own arms slowly around Sokka and clutched at the back of his clothes. “She likes martial arts too, and she’s so much better than me. I’m only good at swords, not at hand to hand, and she’s amazing. She’ll come and take lessons, and Sifu Piandao will realize he was wasting his time on the wrong sibling. And I can’t even _compete_ anymore, because she fucking ruined my heart, so she’ll be even better than she would have been compared to me.”

“Zuko, you’re an amazing swordsman. Piandao isn’t wasting his time on you, never think that. And your heart will get better. You’re getting better all the time!”

“I’ll never be as good as I was,” Zuko said, his breath hitching. Sokka felt a patch of dampness on the front of his hoodie. “And I’ll never be as good as her.”

“Hey,” Sokka rubbed soothing circles on his back, “hey, you’re so good, babe. You’re so good.”

Zuko didn’t reply, and the silence swelled between them until he broke it.

“What if he stops caring?” The question came, small and muffled, stuttered with pain and longing and fear.

“Who?” Sokka gripped him tighter, pulling him closer to his chest, trying to squeeze out the hurt.

“Uncle,” he whispered. “He’ll... he’ll want Azula more than me. Everyone wants Azula more than me. And then I’ll... I’ll be alone again.”

Sokka’s hands shook as he clung impossibly tighter to the other boy, his own tears slipping down his cheeks.

“ _Zuko_...” he couldn’t think of anything to say. Anything to make it better. Anything to temper that agonizing lack of self worth.

“I just... he said I didn’t have to be scared anymore, but I _am_. I’m so scared, Sokka. I’m scared she’s going to take Uncle, and I’m scared she’s going to... to h-hurt me, again. She keeps... she keeps coming into my room, and looking at me. Sometimes I wake up and she’s just standing there, over my bed, like she did in the bath, and I can practically feel the electricity in my chest, and I can’t do anything because she said she’d tell Uncle I was... that I was _hurting_ her, and if he found her in my room in the middle of the night, he’d have to believe that because I’m _fucked_ _up_ , and why would she lie? He’d have to believe her because it would be awful to say she was lying, and then he’d have to send me away, and I don’t have anywhere else to go, Sokka, I don’t! I—I just wanted to be _safe_ , and I’m _not_ , and I’m _scared_.”

“Spirits,” Sokka said under his breath, tears streaming and hands gripping tight to Zuko. “Fuck, Zuko. I’m... I’m so sorry.”

Zuko seemed to have run out of words, and he just clung, his hears soaking the front of Sokka’s hoodie, his entire body quivering with tension.

“Okay, first thing,” Sokka took a deep breath and tried to be practical. Tried not to fall too far into the dark pit of sorrow for the smaller boy. “If, for any crazy reason, Iroh asked you to leave — which he won’t! That’s point number two — but if he did, you could come with me. Dad and Grangran love kids. There’s plenty of space in my room for you. It’s not as though you’d have to like... go back to your Father. Or be homeless, or anything like that. You’d be so, so welcome at mine.”

Zuko buried his face deeper into Sokka’s chest and didn’t say anything.

“Second point, then. Iroh loves you. He’s totally on your side, and he loves you so much. He would _never_ make you leave.”

Sokka let that sink in, moving one hand from the back of Zuko’s sweater into his hair, stroking with the firm pressure he liked.

“Third thing, and it’s a question, buddy, okay? You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, but I need some kind of sign for yes. Okay?”

Zuko nodded, and Sokka felt the movement against his chest.

“Good. Since she got back from the hospital, has Azula hurt you? Physically?”

Zuko shook his head, and Sokka tried not to make his relieved slump too obvious.

“Okay. Has she said things? Things that hurt your feelings?”

Zuko nodded slowly, gripping harder.

“What about your stuff? Has she damaged or stolen any of your things?”

Another nod, smaller that time as Zuko pushed his face harder into Sokka’s hoodie.

“Okay. Okay. And she threatened to tell Iroh that you’d... done bad stuff to her,” Sokka squirmed a little, and Zuko nodded. “Has she... done anything like that? To you?”

Sokka couldn’t hold in the relieved exhale when he felt Zuko’s head shake. Thank the spirits.

“Okay babe. I’ll help you talk to Iroh, yeah? He’ll be able to help. He wants you both to be happy.”

Zuko cuddled up a little closer, some of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders.

He didn’t think he could quite gather up enough energy to speak, so he lifted his head and kissed Sokka’s jaw, letting the other boy cup his cheek with soft, warm, calloused hands.

Sokka maneuvered him slightly into a better position and kissed him back, tracing his bottom lip with his tongue.

“I love you, you know?” Sokka whispered into his mouth, barely pulling apart.

Zuko closed the gap again, pushing harder and moving a hand to the back of Sokka’s head, stroking a thumb in circles in his hair.

Sokka gripped the back of his t-shirt and turned his head slightly for deeper access, dipping his tongue behind Zuko’s teeth, eliciting a whine that went straight to Sokka’s core.

The door banged open, and Zuko scrambled backwards, disentangling himself desperately from Sokka’s arms with a squeak of fearful shock.

“Fuck!” Sokka put his hands in the air, and his head whipped over to see who’d interrupted them.

Azula stood in the doorway, her mouth open in surprise.

She snapped her jaw closed, and arranged her expression into amused disinterest.

“What the hell?” Zuko snapped, launching upright on still shaky legs, “get out!”

“It’s alright Zuzu,” Azula drawled, “ _I’m_ not going to beat you senseless because I saw you sharing spit with a boy.”

“Azula, that’s a horrible thing to say—” Sokka’s ears flushed bright red with embarrassment and anger.

“What?” She shrugged, leaning one shoulder against the door frame, “I’m _not_ going to. Thought he might like to know. You know, since if _Dad_ had actually _caught_ him with a boy...” she trailed off, a little smile lighting her face, “Agni knows what he would have done.”

“Shut up,” Zuko tried to push past her, but she got in his way.

“You didn’t even scream as loud with that burn as you did when he found out about your little side interests,” Azula sneered. “I always wondered what he was doing to you.”

Zuko couldn't breathe.

White lights spotted his vision as he tried, desperately, to pull air into his lungs. His stomach cramped viciously, and it took everything he had not to double over in remembered pain.

“That is _enough_ ,” Sokka yelled, launching to his feet and crossing the room to stand next to Zuko. “Get out of his room, now! You’re not even allowed to be in here.”

Azula smirked, just a hint of something else in her eyes before she banished it and turned away.

“I bet I can guess,” she said, her voice lilting up into a note of teasing.

Sokka couldn’t think of anything less funny to tease someone about.

“Fuck _off_ ,” he slammed the door in her face and turned back to Zuko.

Zuko’s breaths were coming in ragged gasps as his stomach cramped again. He folded his arms around his middle and squeezed, trying to counter the remembered agony and confusion and fear and _pain_.

“Hey, buddy, you gotta breathe with me, okay?” Sokka kept his distance, even as Zuko stumbled back and sank down against the wall.

He was shaking all over, little tremors flowing down each muscle as he tugged at his hair.

He couldn’t _breathe_.

“Zu, baby, you’re okay, she’s gone, just breathe with me,” Sokka knelt down a few feet away, itching to pull him close and resisting.

“G-get her b-back!” Zuko yanked his hair, his right hand flattening out to smack against his head. “She k-knows, she knows and she’ll _tell_! She’ll tell him, and he’ll _get_ me!”

“Fuck,” Sokka hissed under his breath, “she’s not gonna tell your dad, babe, she’s not. It’s okay.”

“S’not _okay_!” He curled forward, tugging so hard at his hair his knuckles were white, slapping fast and rhythmically at the other side, breathing painfully fast through his nose, his eyes squeezed shut. “He can’t know! He can’t know! He’ll come for me, Sokka, he will! I _can’t_!”

Sokka couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t stand the devastation in his voice, the utter, all consuming fear wracking his body. The way he was flinching away from his own hand as he smacked his head, his long fingers rigid and splayed out.

“I’m going to get your uncle. Just... stay here, okay? Don’t do anything.”

Sokka burst through Zuko’s bedroom door, sprinted downstairs, two at a time, and skidded into the living room.

“Iroh!” Sokka shouted. He heard a little clatter from the kitchen, and the man came out, a dish cloth over his shoulder, his hands dripping soap, and his face a picture of curiosity and concern.

“Sokka? What’s the matter?”

“Zuko’s panicking,” Sokka blurted out, “he’s hitting himself and he can’t breathe and he’s talking about his father and I don’t know what to _do_!”

Iroh yanked the towel off his shoulder and quickly dried his hands, dropping it to the floor as he made his way towards the stairs.

“What happened?”

“Azula—” Sokka paused for a moment, debating what to say, “Azula walked in on us. Kissing. And she said some really nasty stuff, and now Zuko’s convinced she’s going to tell their dad and the psycho’s going to come _get_ him.”

Iroh didn’t reply, but he moved even more quickly up the stairs.

“Please go to Azula. You don’t need to confront her, but please make sure her bedroom door stays open, and that she doesn’t leave or contact anyone.”

“Okay,” Sokka wished he could stay with Zuko, but he continued up the corridor when Iroh turned into his room, closing the door behind him.

Sokka stood outside Azula’s bedroom for a moment, deliberating. He had to admit, the kid was scary. But she was also a not quite fifteen year old girl, and he’d been playing soccer all season. It wasn’t like she’d beat him in a fight.

He knocked.

After a few seconds, the door flew open, and Sokka took in the girl in front of him.

She looked completely different to how she had not even five minutes before, when she’d lounged against her brother’s door frame and joked about hate crimes and child abuse.

Her eyes were red and wild with some spark of the insanity Zuko had described.

Her hair was all over the place, like she’d been gripping it in an echo of her brother’s coping mechanisms.

The anger slid out of him as she stared up at his face, trying so hard to look intimidating even as her lip trembled.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “Are you okay?”

Azula laughed. High pitched and desperate and thin with unshed tears.

“I could have Father here in twenty minutes, fucking your little boyfriend into the wall, and you ask me if I’m _okay_?”

Sokka flinched. The words were disgusting. Hateful. But they sounded so much worse coming from her.

“Y-yeah,” Sokka clenched his teeth to hide any hint of anger or horror, “I wanted to check on you.”

“Liar,” she hissed, “Iroh told you to come.”

“Yeah, he did. But I wanted to see if you were okay.”

“Well, I’m not,” she laughed. “Take your fucking news report back to the old man and leave me alone.”

“I’m staying,” he said firmly, stepping forward slightly so he could jam his foot in the door if she decided to slam it. “What do you need?”

“What do I need?” She screeched. “I need you to get the _fuck_ out of my space!”

“Do you have any meds you need to take?”

“I’m not crazy!” She roared. Sokka raised an eyebrow.

“I didn’t say you were.”

“You think I’m a lunatic!”

“I don’t, actually. I think you’re a child.”

Azula snarled, seemingly unable to find words to respond.

“I take anti anxiety meds when I get really bad,” Sokka offered, “is there anything you’re supposed to take when you feel overwhelmed?”

“I’m not crazy,” she insisted. But it was weaker that time, and she turned into her room, opened a draw and pulled out an orange bottle. She glared at him as she swallowed a pill dry.

She stomped back over to him and opened her mouth, as though proving she’d swallowed. Her eyes burned with hatred as she slammed her jaw shut.

“Are you happy now?” She growled.

“Happier, yeah,” he said calmly. “Listen... you’re not actually gonna call Ozai, right?”

“Like he’d answer,” Azula scoffed, crossing her arms tight over her chest. “Although I’m sure if anything would make him see us, it would be for _Zuko_.”

She spat her brother’s name with such jealous vitriol Sokka almost recoiled.

“You think Zuko _wants_ any of this?” He asked incredulously, “you think he _wanted_ to get the shit beat out of him all the time?”

“You’d think,” Azula hissed, “that if he didn’t, he would have _learned_.”

Sokka stepped back, his face twisting in uncontainable anger.

“Learned _what_ , exactly? How to not have a developmental disorder? How not to be gay? That’s so _fucked_ up, Azula!”

“Yeah? Well maybe I _am_ fucked up! Maybe my whole family is a complete shit show and we all despise each other and you’d do better to get out while you still can!”

Sokka swallowed the angry responses he was itching to hurl at her, and deliberately looked at her again.

She was upset. Unraveling. Scared.

She didn’t need him to yell at her.

Spirits, she was just a _kid_.

“Iroh and Zuko aren’t like your father, Azula. They don’t despise anyone. They love each other, and they love you. Your family — the real family that Iroh and Zuko are offering, doesn’t hate each other.”

Azula’s lip trembled, and Sokka saw the moisture gathering in her eyes, sadness overtaking anger.

“They don’t love me,” she whispered, “no one does. Zuko’s too scared of me to form a fucking sentence, and Iroh only let me live here because the institution wouldn’t let me stay forever.”

“That’s not true,” Sokka lowered his voice, putting all the softness he usually reserved for Zuko into his tone. “Iroh was so excited to get you back. He’s wanted to get you out of your father’s house ever since he took Zuko, I know he has. And Zuko... I’m not going to tell you he’s not scared of you, because he is, and he’s allowed to be. But he loves you so much.”

The tears finally fell, and Azula stepped back into her room to sit down on the floor by her bed, leaning against it.

The edge of something _not right_ had dulled in her eyes, her pupils contracting as the drug settled in her system.

Slowly, Sokka followed, taking a seat a few feet away.

“Did he really do it, Sokka?” Azula whispered.

“Huh?” He whispered back.

“Did Father actually... did he touch Zuko? Did he hurt him, like that? For being gay?” Her voice wavered, her eyes fixed on her lap.

“That’s not my story to tell,” Sokka ran an exhausted hand across his face.

“So yes,” she nodded to herself.

There was silence.

Sokka heard tiny sniffles in the semi darkness and glanced over at Azula.

Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

“I hate him,” she whispered, anger burning the edges of each word.

“It wasn’t his fault,” Sokka prepared to defend Zuko, but Azula looked so confused in that moment that he couldn’t rectify the question with either the situation or the lost look on her face.

“What?” She blinked, eyebrows furrowing in bewildered anger.

“Zuko?” Sokka frowned himself, suddenly not quite sure what was happening. “It wasn’t his fault.”

“What the fuck? Of course it wasn’t!” She leaned away from him, disgust tinging her eyes.

“Then why do you hate him?” Sokka threw his hands up.

“Agni, Sokka, I meant Father! I hate Father!”

“Oh,” Sokka capitulated after a moment’s pause, “yeah. Well, good. He’s a terrible person.”

“I can’t believe you thought I’d learn that my dad sexually abused my brother and I’d say I hated _Zuko_!”

“Well sorry! You were just yelling about how he deserved to get beaten up his entire life because he’s autistic, sorry if I assumed you weren’t totally reformed in the space of three minutes.”

“I didn’t mean... I say stuff. Sometimes. I just...”

“I know,” Sokka sighed. “I bet you internalized all kinds of shitty things your father said. Zuko does it too.”

They were quiet, for a minute, and Sokka heard the low, soothing tones of Iroh’s voice in the next room. He hoped Zuko was telling him everything he’d told Sokka.

“Does Zuko think I hate him?” Azula broke the silence, her voice small and almost pleading in the semidarkness of the room. “You were so quick to think that’s what I meant, you must have thought it before.”

“I don’t know,” he said quietly, rubbing a hand down his face. It was exhausting, bouncing between emotions like this. “I think it’s all mixed up in a lot of other feelings.”

“He’s scared of me,” she said matter of factly.

“You did kind of almost kill him.”

“From the middle of a psychotic break,” she nodded. “I’d be scared of me too.”

She knew, now, what it had been. Knew that no one had been there, in her bedroom, in the bathroom where she’d almost killed her brother. No one had been begging her to save him from their father. No one had told her to kill him. It had all been her. Her own paranoia, and fear, and hatred, and terror at the sight of Zuko, wailing under the force of her father’s belt.

“Yeah.”

“I... I saw our mother,” she whispered. “Hallucinated her. She... she was begging me to help him. She kept trying to persuade me to interfere. To get Father to stop. But... there were... so many other voices,” her voice cracked, “telling me to hurt him. And Father was... he was shouting, and he was just... crazy. I couldn’t do anything. He’s... big. And scary. And there was so much _blood_. I couldn’t stop it.”

“You’re just a kid, Azula,” Sokka felt that desperation to pull her into a hug that he so often resisted with Zuko. He dug his fingers into his jeans, determined not to succumb. He didn’t think Azula would take it any better than Zuko used to. “You couldn’t have like, pulled him off or anything. I mean... you could have not tased him afterwards, but...”

“I don’t even remember that part,” she admitted quietly. “The last thing I remember is cutting off half my hair and throwing the scissors into the mirror. Everything after that is just blankness until I showed up for school the next day.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Shit.”

“Have you told him any of this?”

“He doesn’t need to hear it. You don’t seriously think he’d be comforted to know that I blacked out entirely? He’s already scared I could snap at any time. I see how he looks at me. It’s just like he used to look at Father. Like one wrong move might set me off. How do you think he’d react if I told him I blacked out and was a completely different person, and I had no warning for it at all?”

“You were in a super stressful situation,” Sokka pointed out. “And it hasn’t happened like that since, right?”

“No,” she rested her head back against the bed. “Still hear the voices sometimes, though.”

“Do they still... tell you to hurt him?”

“Yeah,” she breathed. “Like... when he does something Father would have hated, I just... I get so... something inside me thinks he needs to be punished. And there’s no one to do it any more. I’ve watched Iroh. He doesn’t seem to have any boundaries at all! Zuko can get away with anything and he still won’t hit him.”

“Yeah, that’s like... normal parenting.”

“My head clearly disagrees.”

“And that’s why we go to therapy,” Sokka let out a low chuckle.

They fell silent again, and Sokka listened to Iroh’s gentle tones through the door. He still couldn’t hear Zuko talking back.

“Iroh offered to take me too, you know? When Zuko got burned.”

“Your dad didn’t let you go?”

“I said no. I thought... with Zuko gone... everything would be perfect.”

“I doubt living with Ozai could ever be described as perfect, even if he didn’t smack you around.” Sokka’s fists clenched on his thighs, the sudden image of Zuko, curled in a corner, covered in bruises, presenting itself in his head.

Azula laughed.

“No. I... I thought it was, for a long time. He approved of me. As long as I did everything he said, he gave me everything I wanted.”

“Doesn’t sound like much of a life.”

“No. Not really.”

“I’m glad you both got out of there.”

“Yeah. Me too. Wish there was less attempted murder and long stays in psychiatric hospitals involved, but you can’t have everything.”

Despite how stressed and worried he was, despite the ache in his chest at the fact that he still couldn’t hear Zuko, despite how completely terrifying the entire situation with the siblings had gotten, Sokka couldn’t hold in a laugh.

“Right,” he wheezed slightly, “you can’t have everything.”

* * *

A long time later, Iroh appeared at the door, knocking gently on the frame.

“I think it’s time we all had a little talk,” he smiled. “I’m going to put on some tea.”

Sokka chuckled, hauling himself to his feet and reaching a hand down to help Azula up.

“Zuko is taking a moment in the bathroom, he’ll join us soon,” Iroh beckoned them out of the room, and they followed him downstairs.

Sokka and Azula settled themselves at the table, watching Iroh move smoothly around the kitchen, pulling together mugs and tea leaves with the familiar clinks and thuds of tea making.

Just as he was pouring water over the leaves, Zuko slid into the kitchen, going immediately to sit in the chair next to Sokka, rather than his normal seat at the end of the table.

Sokka took his hand, and wrapped his fingers securely through Zuko’s.

Zuko looked exhausted. His face was pale and a little drawn, his hair scruffy and hanging across his red rimmed eyes.

He’d changed clothes, substituting jeans and a hoodie for sweat pants and his favorite t-shirt.

“Hi, babe,” Sokka whispered.

“Hi,” Zuko rasped back, a small smile darting across his lips. He leaned over slightly and rested his head on Sokka’s shoulder, letting out a soft sigh.

Sokka squeezed his hand.

Iroh set cups down in front of each of them, and Zuko pressed his between his hands, absorbing the warmth through the chipped ceramic.

There was a long and comfortable silence as they drank their tea.

The atmosphere around the table was tentative, exhausted. Sokka itched to ask Zuko if he was okay, but didn’t want to ask in front of Azula.

“I’m sorry,” Azula burst out into the quiet. The other three looked up at her, a little startled, but she only had eyes for Zuko. “I panicked.”

Zuko nodded.

“Me too,” he said, his voice raw and thin.

“I... I... I was telling Sokka,” she gestured to him, “that the... the voices... sometimes tell me bad stuff. Especially when I see things Father wouldn’t like. They try to make me want to... punish.”

Zuko flinched back a little, his hand tightening in Sokka’s. Sokka squeezed back, reassuring pressure bending his fingers slightly.

“Thank you for telling us that,” Iroh said gently, reaching out to pat her hand. “We did not expect this transition to be easy, and it’s natural that we’ve hit some challenges.”

“Please,” Zuko said, his voice tiny and his eyes pointed at Azula’s cup, “don’t call Father.”

Azula gripped her cup tighter, the remaining tea sloshing slightly.

“I’m not going to,” she whispered, “I promise. Never.”

* * *

They talked for a long time.

About boundaries, and conflict resolution, and expressing their feelings.

About family therapy, and medications, and coping strategies.

About after school activities, and bonding time, and ways to build each other up.

About psychosis, and hallucinations, and voices.

About autism, and trauma, and panic attacks.

They talked. And listened.

Sokka could feel Zuko flagging beside him. At some point, the smaller boy had managed to wedge himself up against Sokka’s chest and wriggle under his arm, so Sokka’s hand was laid carefully over his rib cage.

Sokka could feel the slightly off rhythm beat of his heart as it sped up and slowed down throughout the conversation. Faster when Azula spoke. Slower when Iroh spoke. Jackrabbit fast when Zuko himself had to add to the conversation.

Now, he was practically falling asleep at the table, his heart gradually slowing as his eyes slid shut, then frantically skipping beats when he startled himself awake.

Sokka met Iroh’s eyes and looked pointedly down at the dozing boy leaning against him.

“I think it’s time we all went to bed,” Iroh nodded. “An early night does wonders.”

Azula stood first. She hovered awkwardly by the table, chewing at her lip just a little bit.

Suddenly, she darted forward and pressed a tiny kiss at the centre of Iroh’s bald patch, and then turned to leave the room at a brisk march.

Iroh grinned silently at Sokka, delighted and unwilling to reveal that to Azula.

Sokka smiled back.

“If you would like to stay the night, you’re very welcome,” Iroh said quietly, conscious of the fact that Zuko was now breathing heavily and evenly. “I am truly grateful for everything you’ve done for my children today.”

“It was nothing,” Sokka shrugged slightly.

“No, Sokka. It was a true step towards healing. That is everything.”

**Author's Note:**

> At the moment, I have one more story for this series. If you have prompt ideas, I'm all ears! Otherwise, the next one will probably be the last :)


End file.
